


Cross Them Lines

by sandswinchester



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandswinchester/pseuds/sandswinchester
Summary: OFC and Chris Evans have been childhood best friends. After a disastrous night out, she calls him and fluff ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

I stepped out of the club clutching my oversized black leather jacket tighter to myself. I was cold and my little black dress clearly didn’t help.

 

“Lana, babe,” I heard him call out behind me. I looked up at the sky, praying for patience so I don’t end up killing my boyfriend. _Ex-_ boyfriend, now, I reminded myself. “It’s not what it looked like, babe, I swear!” he insisted.

 

I didn’t to turn around, refusing to acknowledge him, but I couldn’t hold back my words. “So what, Dave? She tripped and her mouth just fell on your dick?”

 

“Babe, please,” he crooned, mistaking my anger for jealousy or something I presume. Honestly, the nerve of the guy!

 

Dave and I were set up through a mutual friend. We had been dating for about two months and he was nothing spectacular but it was not terrible either. He was decent, had a steady job, not ugly to look at and I always had fun around him. I should have seen the signs though. I simply alluded his wandering eye to him being a man and men in general being visual creatures. He was probably cheating on me the whole duration of our relationship. Honestly, at this point, I didn’t care.

 

Soon, a bouncer took pity on me and told Dave to either leave me alone or leave the club and her fortunately chose the former. That left me alone, save for the helpful but intimidating bouncer, on the road, looking for a way home.

 

I sighed and dialed. It rang for a while. He was probably sleeping I assumed and was just about to end the call when his voice croaked through. “It’s fucking 3 in the morning, Lana. This better be good.”

 

“Hello to you too,”  I said, smiling gleefully at his clearly annoyed sleepy self.

 

“Ugh,” he groaned, and I could imagine him wiping a hand over his eyes, trying to wipe the sleep away. “You are way too cheerful for me to handle right now.”

 

“Chris...can you come pick me up?”

 

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” he asked, sounding more alert and awake. “Are you hurt?”

 

“No, no, I am fine,” I reassured. “Dave and I broke up.”

 

“Hmm...” was all I got in response. Frankly, Chris had never been a fan of Dave but he’d held off his opinions always letting me make my own decisions. Stupid decisions of course.

 

“Some blonde sorority girl tripped and her mouth fell on her dick,” I added.

 

His laughter boomed through the phone and I could imagine him grabbing his left boob in my head. _Ass,_ I thought to myself, rolling my eyes in exasperation.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped, trying to reign it in. It wasn’t even that funny, honestly, but Chris always found my dating mishaps hilarious. Having been best friends for over a decade, he’s seen quite a few of those. I was anything but lucky in love and Chris never missed an opportunity to bug me for it.

 

After giving him directions, I hung up on his promise to be here in less than 10 minutes. He may laugh at me, he may piss me off and he may get annoyed with me, but there was no one else I’d rather be calling in the middle of the night than Chris Evans.

 

Before he was Chris fucking Evans, Captain America and _major_ movie star, he was my best friend. We met in high school when I was a freshman and he was a sophomore. Ours was an unlikely friendship that probably bloomed out of proximity since we were practically neighbours sharing the same backyard and a very unhealthy obsession with Disney movies. He was my first kiss and I was his, simply because he didn’t want to seem like a loser in front of the girl he was crushing on and planned on asking out. I’ve spent more time at his house eating his mother’s cooking than my own probably. He’s drunk dialed me more often than his girlfriend at the time.

 

Even with all the fame that surrounded him now, our friendship stayed the same. He always calls it his anchor. That was probably because while everyone else saw the movie star, perfect and dashing, I saw the teenage idiot running home to tell me – _and_ his mother – that he finally lost his virginity.

 

When his car rolled up in front, his baseball cap clad head poked out. “At your service, your highness.”

 

I rolled my eyes at him, walking around to get in. As I stepped into the car and buckled myself in – safety first, guys! – he eyed me, curiously.

 

“I have to ask you something. Promise me you’d be honest,” he said peering into my eyes with his crystal baby blues.

 

For a moment, my heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t know, could he? He couldn’t possibly know about how I truly felt about him, right? Yes, yes, I know. It’s such a cliché. Weird girl falls for her hot handsome best friend and pines after him secretly. In my defense, I never _planned_ on it! It just happened. One day we were just hanging out as we always do and things had just...well, I don’t know...shifted I guess. But I had been so very careful about it. I went out of my way to make sure he had no clue whatsoever.

 

“What?” I simply asked, making no promises.

 

He glanced at me, his eyes genuinely curious. “Is that my leather jacket?”

 

A nervous laughed escaped me. I looked down at myself and I realized that it actually _was._ He must have given it to me when I had gotten cold, and I was pretty much _always_ getting cold. No wonder it was too big on me.

 

“Yes, it is,” I conceded. “But you gotta admit it looks waaaay better on me.”

 

“It does,” he agreed with a soft smile. “I can’t believe my best friend is such a fucking thief.”

 

“Fuck you, Chris,” I uttered with an indignant gasp and an accompanying slap on his arm. Ugh. Those muscular arms.

 

I am so pathetic.

 

The rest of the ride was mostly us silently listening to music and occasionally saying a few words to each other. It didn’t take me long to realize he was turning towards his place and not mine.

 

“Mine is closer,” he said in way of explanation even before I asked, reading my mind as usual. “And it’s fucking 3.30 in the morning.”

 

I held up my hands in surrender. “No one is arguing with you.”

 

The moment he opened his door to let us in, a blur of brown rushed towards us, hitting Chris with a distinct ooph.

 

“I’ve barely been gone 10 minutes, you crazy mutt!” he laughed not at all annoyed by Dodger’s antics.

 

Noticing me, Dodger bumped his nose against me and I couldn’t resist scratching him behind his ears.

 

“Come on, let’s get you kids to bed,” Chris announced pushing me and in effect pushing Dodger as well inside the house.

 

He led me up the stairs even though he didn’t exactly have to. I knew the way around his house too well. At the top of the stairway he paused.

 

“I didn’t think things through,” he announced in a rough whisper.

 

“What?” I whispered back.

 

“Scott is staying over so he’s in the guest room. You can sleep in mine yeah, like old times?”

 

I said, “Sure.” Internally, I was screaming at the torture I was going to put myself through. Sure, we had slept in the same bed – _when we were KIDS!_ Now with the whole crushing on my best friend situation, sleeping in the same bed next to all that Chris-ness was going pose a definite problem.

 

Not because I wouldn’t be able to control myself. As attracted as I am to him, our friendship was way too important for me to allow my impulses to ever destroy what we had. But sleeping next to him, and waking up next to him, his face being the first thing I see in the morning...those were things I wanted so, _so_ badly. I wanted that _every_ morning, not just because I crashed at his place after a bad breakup or some stupid thing but because we were together in the true sense of the word.

 

Like I said, I am pathetic. And my pathetic self and I were probably in for a rough night.

 

When I stepped out of the en suite, he threw a pair of shorts and a t-shirt at me, which I reflexively caught in the nick of time. My classic eye roll at his antics made him laugh as he tucked the covers around him. I went back in and changed. Ironically, it was a ragged Captain America t-shirt. That self-obsessed dumbass.

 

“You _do_ look better in my clothes,” he murmured roughly when he saw me walking out.

 

I looked down at myself and rolled my eyes at him once more. I end up doing that a lot around him. The t-shirt hung on my frame like it was practically a dress. It was _very_ long, which is understandable considering Chris is too tall and I am way shorter than your average female. I barely reached 5 feet.

 

I tried to ignore the feelings his carelessly uttered words ignited in me and got into bed, bidding him good night and turning away from him to my usually favored side to sleep on.

 

As expected, sleep evaded me for a while. My body was too wired up and aware of the presence next to it. My mind was working, wheels turning, making me think of things I really, _really_ shouldn’t be thinking of – not at this hour, not about him.

 

Not all thoughts were dirty, mind you! I was just feeling overwhelmed with affection for this little fluff ball that is Chris Evans, my best friend for half my life possibly. In a world plagued with Daves and Johns and a million other fuck boys, Chris was a rarity. He was reliable, respectful and so damn caring. There was never a moment that he had ever failed to be there for me. I mean who drives to a bar at 3am to pick up someone at the drop of a hat?

 

“Chris,” I called out to him softly, not wanting to wake him if he was truly asleep.

 

“Yeah?”

 

I turned around to face him. He did the same, laying his head on his folded arm and peering into my eyes sleepily. “Thank you for today,” I told him sincerely. “If not for you, I don’t know what I’d have done. You’re always there for me and...”

 

“Can you stop?” he asked using his other hand to lay it flat on my face. His big fucking hand, palm flat on my fucking face. That ass!

 

I slapped it down so both our hands were between us and glared at him. “Why do you always have to ruin the moment?” I didn’t bother to hide my indignation.

 

He just laughed and asked, “Should I kick Dave’s ass?”

 

I shuddered at the name. “Ugh. Don’t waste your time. He’s not worth it.”

 

A moment passed in which he didn’t say anything and neither did I. “Why do you always end up dating such assholes, Lana?” he asked, genuinely looking perplexed by my continuous poor choices in dating.

 

 _Because I can’t have the one I’ve been in love with probably all my life. Because the one I really like thinks of me as one of the guys. Because that idiot is you and you are far too out of my reach._ Of course, I did not say any of that. I simply shrugged.

 

“I mean, I don’t get it,” he continued, still perplexed. I got to admit, it was an adorable look on him. “You are an amazing person. You’re smarter than pretty much everyone I know. You’re a badass at work, and to top it off, you are so damn beautiful. You could have your pick of guys and you always end up dating total douchebags...”

 

His words were getting to me. As my best friend, he is supposed to think those things about me but to hear them said out loud, in that sleepy voice of his was breaking me inside. So I did what I did best. I laid my palm flat on his face while he was still talking. “Can you stop?” I mimicked.

 

He dragged my palm down, laughing. “I’m serious!”

 

“Well, Serious, I’m Lana. Nice to meet you,” I said sticking my tongue out at him like we were just kids. “And you are one to talk. You can have anyone you want but you are constantly dating people who never even get beneath the super star surface. You haven’t had a real relationship in _years_. What’s up with that?”

 

He stared at me for a heartbeat, looking at me. I wondered in the span of those seconds whether I had stepped too far. Maybe I touched a sore spot.

 

Then he smiled. “Aren’t we a pair?” he said lightly. “But I mean it, Lana. You far too amazing to waste your time on the likes of Dave.” He kissed the top of my head. “Go to sleep. Good night, Lana.”

 

“Good night, Chris,” I whispered, turning back around.

 

The place where his lips had touched tingled but I forced my eyes close. I couldn’t think about that. I could not let myself get carried away with what he said.

 

I was so lucky to have Chris in my life, an unfailing pillar to lean on no matter what I was going through. He knew me, the real me, and loved me anyway.

 

His arm slipped around me, hugging me to him. “You’re my best friend,” his voice said in my ear.

 

I smiled. So what if he didn’t feel the same way I did? He loved me, and his love was unconditional. I’d rather have him as I do, than not have him at all. It hurt at times, well most of the time to be honest...but I can take that pain. I can’t ever take the pain of losing him forever.

 

So I snuggled into him and settled down, allowing myself to fall asleep in his arms. “You’re my best friend too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana and Chris Evans have been childhood best friends. She wakes up the next morning in his bed.

I am not sure what it was exactly that woke me. I felt a little disoriented so I remained still until I could get my bearings.

 

I was covered up, all warm and cozy. My throat was dry and my head throbbed a little, clearly indicating I’d had a night of drinking. There was an arm wrapped around my waist. The palm rested on my bare stomach.  _Was I naked?_  I sneaked a peek and was very much relieved to find that I was not.

 

The body attached to the arm was happily spooning me.  _Ugh. Dave._  But then I remembered. The blonde. The “accident.” I had broken up with him right after. Unless…unless I was too stupid for my own good and had actually gotten back together with him.

 

Cursing myself internally, I glanced around the bedroom, trying my damnest to decipher clues as much as my disoriented brain could manage. It was too uncluttered to be Dave’s bedroom. That dumbass would leave literally everything everywhere.

 

_Chris._

 

This was Chris’s bedroom. I was being spooned by Chris’s warmth.

 

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to savour it. I shouldn’t do it. I should just get up and get out of here before he woke up. But this might be all I ever get of something that even resembled to a morning waking up to him. I couldn’t just ignore it.

 

I felt like a freaking creep.

 

But I laid there, listening to the soft sound of him breathing. Steady. Asleep.

 

His palm that rested on my stomach lazily began to move, his thumb stroking my skin ever so subtly. His heartbeat stayed steady but mine was racing with every slight grazing of his hand.

 

_What was he doing?! Trying to kill me?_

 

“Chris,” I called out softly, checking whether he was awake. There was no response but he kept moving his thumb back and forth.

 

I grabbed his hand with mine, stilling his movement. “Chris!” I said a bit louder.

 

He groaned behind me, definitely still asleep, and the sound sent a thrill right to my core. His sleepy voice did things to me. Things I did not need at the moment. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, tightening his arm around me and pulling me closer into his embrace.

 

He was rock hard and there was no way I could ignore it. I could feel it right against my butt, poking me. Any sleepiness that remained was wiped away and I was instantly wide awake.

 

Do I point this out and embarrass him? Do I say nothing and let him grind himself against me in his sleep?

 

Problems…problems…

 

Before I could decide, his hand crept up across my stomach, underneath my shirt, brushing over my breast. I couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped.  _What the hell was he doing? Does he even know it was me and not some bimbo he picked up and brought home?_

 

“Shh…” he shushed me. Then I felt his lips on the nape of my neck, slowly kissing me. “You smell  _so_  good, Lana.”

 

Well that answered the question. He  _did_  know.

 

I turned around to face him, intent upon waking him up from his lewd dream about me, his best friend. Sure I  _wanted_  him to have lewd dirty thoughts about me but I wanted them to be intentional. Not a dream he had no control over.

 

His eyes were open and I found them looking at me sleepily.

 

“I think you’re dreaming,” I told him.

 

“I’m awake.”

 

“Your hand is under my shirt.” Both of us looked down at where his hand rested – comfortably on my bare hip.

 

“I am aware,” he replied, meeting my quizzical gaze. Then his thumb continued to stroke my skin ever so softly. His eyes never left mine. “Do you want me to stop?”

 

My heart was in my throat. My breath came out in a gasp that I couldn’t control. “What?” I squeaked.

 

“Do you want me to stop, Lana?”

 

“Stop what?” I asked, my voice coming out in that high pitch that I hated.

 

Chris leaned in, tightening his hold on my waist and pulling me towards him at the same time. My gaze dropped to his lips as they seemed to descend towards mine in slow motion. “This,” he whispered, right before those soft pink lips met mine delicately but insistently.

 

Kissing him back was just pure instinct. This was not our first but it was different. The context of it was different. For one, I was way too confused to understand what was going on. For all I know, I could still be asleep and this was all just a dream conjured up by my yearning mind.

 

And yet…the scent of leather, musk and clean soap that hung to him, peppered with a bit of Gucci Guilty, was real. The pressure of his mouth, insisting I let him in, was real. The hard press of his body, as he moved his thigh to settle between mine, was real.

 

If this was a dream, it was far too realistic for me to handle right now.

 

Before I could ask him for any explanations and before anything could go further, his phone rang interrupting whatever was happening between us.

 

From what I could hear, it was his agent and it was a bit of a tense conversation. I used that as an opportunity to grab my clothes from the previous night and lock myself in the bathroom. Yes, that’s me. Queen of avoiding things I wasn’t ready to deal with.

 

I had just finished getting dressed when I heard the phone wind down beyond the door.

 

“Lana?” he called out to me. “I have to meet with my agent for some emergency press related issue.”

 

I opened the door. “I can take a cab,” I said, grinning like a fool, pretending everything was normal.

 

“I can drop you before I go,” he said, peering into my eyes. He probably thought I was an unhinged crazy person. I was grinning like one for sure. “Just give me a minute to get dressed.”

 

Then he closed the door behind him, leaving me to my thoughts. Thoughts that I actively worked towards ignoring. If I pretend it didn’t happen, nothing will change between me and Chris. Our friendship would remain just as it was – platonic.

 

But  _he_ kissed  _me._

 

What was that all about, anyway? Was it some sleepy morning wood situation with overstimulated testosterone taking over his brain, or was it intentional? But…he was Chris fucking Evans. And I was just his childhood best friend…one of the guys, for all it mattered. What in the world would he want to do with  _me?_

 

All this thinking I wanted to avoid was making my head feel like it was going to explode. I’m sure the hangover did not help much either.

 

The ride to my place, which was just around the block, was silent. It was unusual for Chris so I alluded it to whatever he had talked about with his agent. When we reached my house, he told me that he’d call me.

 

“Uhm okay,” I replied, as I let myself out. “Sure thing.”

 

“You know we need to talk about what happened, right?” His blue eyes bore into mine, unwavering.

 

I was the first to look away. Completely ignoring that, I simply said, “I hope everything goes well with the meeting.”

 

As he drove off and I squinted at his tail lights, I realized that as much as I willed things to remain the same between us, he had started something that morning that would end up changing  _every_ thing.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lana and Chris Evans have been childhood best friends. After a kiss shared between them, Chris is called away for some meetings with his publicists, leaving Lana to worry herself to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what fuels my writing. Hate it? Let me know. Love it? Let me know. Your feedback is ALWAYS welcome ^_^

An entire week went by – seven solid days – before I ever heard from him. It wasn’t like I was waiting by the phone hoping he’d call me. Okay, fine, maybe I did. A little bit. Not my proudest week, frankly. I never thought I would revert back to that girl who waited for a guy to call her. But this wasn’t some guy. This was Chris.

 

To be honest, I missed him. I missed our little bantering texts and random phone calls to share weird moments of our day. I missed my best friend.

 

The other stuff were locked in a dark corner of my mind. At least I tried to keep it that way and not think about how he had kissed me. I tried to not think about how good it had felt to kiss him back. I tried to not think about how he was now not talking to me after that same little kiss. Well, there was nothing little about that kiss. If we hadn’t been interrupted by his phone, that “little kiss” would have escalated to a whole lot more.

 

He had been up for it. I mean, I had physically felt against my butt how up for it he had been. And it wasn’t like I would have had the inclination nor the presence of mind to put a stop to it. It would have escalated and we both would have let it.

 

At this point though, I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed by the interrupting phone call, or be grateful for it.

 

I mean, it was just a little kiss, and he had gone completely silent on me for a week. If we had actually had sex, he might have disappeared from my life forever or something.

 

Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he regretted kissing me and now has no clue how to reach out to me or face me. I could live with him regretting the kiss but I couldn’t live a life in which he wasn’t my best friend.

 

I stared at the phone on my desk. I should be staring at my computer, editing more of the manuscripts, but no, I stared at my stupid phone instead. At this rate, my distraction level was way too high that I was possibly at a risk of getting fired from my very comfortable job at the publishing firm.

 

I sighed in resignation and grabbed my phone, hating my pathetic excuse for will power.

 

_Are you alive?_

 

I typed it out fast and sent it just as quick, before I changed my mind.

 

It didn’t take even a minute for a reply to arrive. _In a meeting with the publicists._ Then right after, I was graced with a selfie taken from such a weird angle that he must have had his phone in his crotch to snap it secretly. I couldn’t help but laugh. He was such a dork. _Wish I was with you_ , accompanied the selfie.

 

Still smiling, I typed back to him, without even thinking about it. _Well come home dumbass! :P_

 

I was still smiling as I now switched to stare blindly at my desktop screen when Emily threw a paperclip right at me.

 

Startled, I glared at her. “Em, what the hell?”

 

She rolled her eyes at me like my anger was unwarranted. “Dude is your Chris back together with Elizabeth Olsen?”

 

“Uh, first of all, he is not _my_ Chris,” I pointed out. Then I shrugged. “I don’t think he is dating anyone. I mean he would tell me if he was.” And I was sure of that. I mean, him dating Olsen was kept very much under wraps from the media but he’d still told me that they were in a relationship, however brief that had lasted. And that had been over a year ago. I remembered because he was supposed to spend Easter with me last year but had had to spend it with Elizabeth instead.

 

My PC beeped, indicating I’d just received an IM from Emily.

 

“Then what’s this?” she asked me.

 

She had sent a link, which I opened. It led to one of those gossip sites and I found myself wishing I had not opened it at all. There was Chris, looking dashing in that greyish blue t-shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes, wearing shades to hide his face from probably the paps. And there was Elizabeth Olsen, clinging to his arm. The title read, _Rekindled Romance: Evans and Olsen back together?_

 

There were more pictures to see, and like the masochist I am, I scrolled down to see it all. They clearly had no idea they were being photographed and seemed to just be strolling into some restaurant. There were pictures of them sitting inside, and laughing. And then there was one of Chris leaning down to kiss her.

 

Like he had kissed me only a week ago.

 

I felt like a fucking idiot. Chris was not texting because he was too busy cozying up to his ex. Well, clearly she was not his ex anymore. Here I was, thinking he was upset about our kiss that may have jeopardized our friendship and regretting his actions in shame, unable to face me, when he was actually not thinking about me at all.

 

What the fuck?

 

No, I mean, seriously! What the fuck was wrong with him? How dare he kiss me if he was seeing his famous gorgeous long legged blonde co-star? Why would he want to?

 

I almost picked up my phone to yell at him and ask him what the heck he was doing messing around with me, but I didn’t. For one, Emily was looking at me, waiting for a response to either confirm or deny Chris’ involvement with Olsen. And two, right now, the way emotions were running rampant within me, silence was my greatest defense.

 

I made up my mind, then and there. I was not going to ask him about it. I was not going to ever let him know that the kiss we had shared had affected me in any way...that I thought of it and had gotten myself upset over it. In fact, I won’t let him know I even thought about us at all. There was _no_ us. There never could have been.

 

I was just an idiot who needed to be reminded of that. This new revelation about him and Olsen was just that – a painful, but necessary reminder.

 

He was fucking Chris Evans, and I was his childhood buddy. And that is all there is to it.

 

So why did I feel so pissed off? _Why_ did I feel like I have been betrayed?

 

Pushing that aside, I looked at Emily. “I guess he is, huh. Oh well, good for him,” I said, and smiled.

 

Then I returned to my screen and focused on work. If my eyes teared, it was only because of the brightness of the screen and nothing more. Seriously.

 

What right did I have to be upset about him dating his co-star? What right did I have towards him?

 

We were just friends.

 

_Fuck my life._


	4. Chapter 4

A good night’s sleep was supposed to calm me down and give me better perspective. I hated being mad at him. I hated being mad at him especially when I had absolutely no right to be so. I hated how I felt too – all insecure and devastated. I hated it.

 

A good night’s sleep was supposed to calm me down but I did  _not_ sleep last night. Not at all. My mind was in turmoil. I couldn’t stop thinking. Not even for a minute. Had I destroyed my friendship with my only best friend?  _But he kissed me,_ I reminded myself indignantly.  _He kissed me and flew off to kiss, and possibly do more with his ex-girlfriend._

 

My head was pounding. My eyes hurt – probably from all the unwarranted tears that had leaked out of my eyes against my better judgment all night. So I sipped my coffee and stared into nothing, letting my mind reign free. In hindsight, that was definitely not a good plan.

 

By the time the ringing of my doorbell interrupted my wayward thoughts, I had managed to work my already fucked up head up into an even worse state. If that was even possible. Overall, I was in a shitty mood and whoever was at my door was going to get the brunt of it.

 

I chugged down the coffee that had grown cold in my mug, uncaring that it left a bitter after taste, and stomped to the front door. Just as I reached it, the bell was rung  _again_ so freaking insistently it literally felt like the sound was grating on my nerves.

 

“What?” I scowled yanking the door open, my face openly glowering at the impatient bell ringer.

 

“Hi.”

 

I blinked. Blue eyes laughed at me, crinkling at the corners, his teeth widened in an open grin.  _Chris_.

 

To be honest, I almost slammed the door in his face. Not because I was mad but because I was  _so_ not ready to deal with him and all that cheeriness he exuded. But I  _was_ mad. Can’t forget that.

 

“What are you  _doing_ here?” I asked, and I hate to say my voice came out in what mostly resembled a squeak. Ugh, thanks very much vocal chords. Not.

 

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” he asked looking at me like he thought I was a simpleton as he brushed past me into my house.

 

He walked into my kitchen, grabbed my stale coffee pot, grimaced at it in distaste, threw it out and put on a fresh pot. All the while I simply stood at the entryway staring after him. When he turned around, I was still immobile. Staring. Gaping. Like a fucking idiot.

 

He rolled his eyes at me, casually leaning against my kitchen counter. I hate to say he looked very much at home in my kitchen. I could imagine him, shirtless, jeans riding low on his lips, talking to me about everything and nothing while making breakfast for the both of us.  _Stop it, you idiot. You goddamn idiot._ I could  _not_ think like this anymore.

_Elizabeth Olsen. Elizabeth Olsen._ I chanted like a mantra in my head, urging my brain to remember why I can’t. Why Chris and I just  _can’t_.

_Elizabeth fucking Olsen, goddamn it._

 

“What?” Chris asked, his brows knitted, his eyes narrowed and gazing intently at me. Why did he look so confused? “What did you say?” he asked again.

 

It was then that I realized that I’d said the last part out loud.  _Fuck me._

 

I decided, like always, to pretend like it hadn’t happened. After all, that  _was_ my forte was it not?

 

I smiled breezily, waving a hand in dismissal. “Oh, it’s nothing. So what are you doing here?” I asked him cheerily. If my voice had a forced lightness to it, I hoped to God that Chris wouldn’t notice.

 

But who was I kidding, really? This was Chris. He could read me like a book. Like a fucking open book. Of course he fucking noticed.

 

“You said come home. I came home,” he answered simply. 

 

At first I was confused as to what he was talking about. Then I remembered our texts. How happy had I been to just talk to him back then! Now all that happiness felt like ash in my mouth, because with that same memory, I also remembered how easily he had ignored me for his gorgeous leggy blonde ex-girlfriend right after kissing me.

 

“So...what  _about_ Liz?” he asked me coolly, not for a moment distracted by my crafted dismissal. His usually warm eyes were frosted, a sure sign of his guard being up.

 

“Nothing,” I stated simply, moving to straighten things on the kitchen island that weren’t even crooked. My hands – as well as the rest of me – were restless. I needed to do something to shove the anxiety aside.

 

“Bullshit!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly.

 

I turned around to face him. “It’s  _not_ bullshit!” I said, raising my voice to match his. “It’s nothing! NOTHING! I said so, didn’t I?”

 

In a split second, he crossed the two feet of a distance I had carefully maintained between us out of some sense of self-preservation. All of a sudden, he was all up in my personal space. This was nothing uncommon. We literally had no boundaries whatsoever. Growing up together kind of does that to you. But in the agitated state I was in, with all the conflicting emotions I was feeling, him being this close was something I just could not handle.

 

So when he touched my arm to get my attention and make me look at him, I flinched. I  _flinched_ away from him. It was simply pure instinct but the damage was done. I looked up at his face to see the hurt register there in his eyes. But I couldn’t think about  _his_ hurt. Not right now.

 

“How could you do it, Chris?” I asked. “How could you do it to me?”

 

He stared at me blankly. I knew he didn’t understand. Or he just didn’t  _care_. Maybe I was just one of the girls in a line of many. But I couldn’t believe that about him. I could  _not_ believe that about us. Yet my mind was in a really bad place. My own pain, and the hurt in his eyes obviously caused by my unintentional actions, stacked up with my lack of sleep were making me think the  _worst_.

 

“How could you fucking kiss me? How could you fucking kiss me and then just go cozy up to Elizabeth fucking Olsen right after like it absolutely meant nothing? How could you do that to me?”

 

Shock passed over his features as my words started to make sense. “I didn’t...” he denied, taking a step towards me, reaching out to me. I stepped back hastily, warily, and he instantly stopped in his tracks. “I didn’t, Lana.”

 

His face was so open, his words so honest. I wanted to believe him desperately.  _He is an actor by profession,_ some twisted part of my mind chose to remind me right in that moment.  _He gives truth to lies for a living._ I hated my brain for making me think this way, but I couldn’t ignore it.

 

“I saw it. You don’t have to lie. I saw all of it. All the pictures.” I took a deep breath to calm myself. “I don’t care, Chris,” I told him evenly. Something flickered in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher, but I forged ahead. I had to get it out before I went insane in my own head. “What you do is your own business. But please, tell me this. Why did you kiss me if all you wanted to do was get back to  _your_   _Liz?_ ”

 

“Of course you don’t care,” he said coolly meeting my gaze. “You practically fucking ran away from me that morning afterwards. Couldn’t wait to fucking get away from me, could you?” His words were uttered so evenly, so calmly, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. Swear words were starting to color every other word. “So you want to know why I kissed you?” he went on. “Why don’t you fucking find the answer to that too in some fucking tabloid magazine? Clearly that is the fucking truth you are so fucking sure of.”

 

The front door slammed.  _Loud._ And he was gone as swift as he had arrived.

 

But something had shifted terribly between us.

 

I thought it hurt before but that could not even compare to what it felt like now.

 

I had fucked up.  _Again._


	5. Chapter 5

There were a million things I needed to do today.

 

 

I had to catch up on my personal writing projects that had been pushed to the back corner of my desk – and my mind – due to hectic back to back weeks at work. I had to do some laundry before I ran out of things to wear in my closet. I had to do grocery shopping if I had any intention of cooking at home for the upcoming week. I should do a bit of a deep clean of the house too just so I don’t end up living in a petri dish for bacteria and god knows what else.

 

 

Like I said, a million important things to do...but I hopped in the shower for a good cry instead.

 

 

Honestly, I didn’t know why I was crying. Well I knew but I didn’t know why I was crying _this_ much. You know the kind. Breath heaving, chest constricting, kind. The ugly crying. Weeping if you want to get specific about it. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was just one emotional wreck. At this point, it mattered little. I just fucking cried.

 

 

All these years of being friends with Chris, not once had he walked away from me. Not once. This was not our first fight. We haven’t had many serious ones but we fought a lot. We didn’t have the kind of relationship where two people always agreed with each other. We were different. And that often meant we clashed. But we respected each other, and loved each other enough to stay and fight. To work it out. To not leave things on a negative note. Always.

 

 

At least until today.

 

 

I couldn’t believe he walked away from me. I felt like I pushed him too far. In retrospect, I can see how he must feel. It’s understandable that he doesn’t want me butting into his life. It’s understandable how he shouldn’t want to feel like he has to justify himself to me. He shouldn’t have to. Not to me. Not after everything we’ve been through.

 

 

It was that stupid fucking kiss.

 

 

It has clouded my judgment with all these feelings and insecurities. I’m letting my own fears prevent me from understanding him when he needs it the most from me.

 

 

Any residual resentment or anger I had fell away as I thought things through in the shower. I never could stay mad at him. What overwhelmed me now was the guilt.

 

 

I wanted to run to him. I wanted to just clear the air and beg him to let us go back to how we were. Feelings be damned.

 

 

But I also knew that would be the worst thing I could do right now. Chris needed space. He needed to process and calm down on his own. Me barreling into his house and telling him what to do and what to feel is the last thing he needs right now.

 

 

Tonight.

 

 

Tonight I will grab a six pack and head over. If my words couldn’t win him over, at least the beer would ease the path.

 

 

Coming to a feasible plan to repair the damage I caused calmed me down somewhat. I did not feel better in anyway but at least now I had something to do – to bide my time until I can see him and fix things.

 

 

After the shower I got dressed in a pair of frayed denim shorts and a white tank top. The laundry hamper stared at me accusingly. It was literally overflowing with dirty clothes and it gave me something mindless to do for the moment.

 

 

I took it down to the washer and started sorting them into piles. Yes, fine. I am a bit of a neat freak on my good days. I can be compulsive about color sorting and all that. The labels were my guidelines. Can you blame me? These things are expensive! No wonder I feel the need to borrow clothes from Chris. At least I don’t have to spend on pajamas or leather jackets, right?

 

 

My hand rested on a t-shirt that was clearly not my own. The grey-blue fabric smooth and caressing in my hands. _Chris_. How many nights had I slept in these just because they felt like heaven on my skin?

 

 

But as I stared at it, my heart raced.

 

 

The grey-blue t-shirt.

 

 

The one I had slept in for months and months.

 

 

The one I had borrowed and never returned since Christmas last year.

 

 

The one that had been in the bottom of my laundry hamper for what was probably weeks at an end.

 

 

The one he was wearing in those paparazzi photos with Elizabeth Olsen.

 

 

I felt like the biggest fucking idiot on the planet. Yes, it was true that he could have more than just one of the same kind but I knew it wasn’t the case. I knew it.

 

 

He had tried to tell me. He had tried to explain that he hadn’t done what I’d accused him of. I hadn’t believed him. But here there was proof, right here in my hands.

 

 

I didn’t think. I couldn’t. Grabbing my keys, I headed out. I don’t know if I drove sensibly or not. All I know is that I went through the motions to get from Point A to Point B. I didn’t stop until I reached his house.

 

 

Even as I let myself in, I could hear him down in the basement gym of his. This was confirmed by Ray, his bodyguard, who was chilling in front of the TV in the den. I mindlessly thanked him and headed down – my only focus was reaching Chris and telling him that I was a fucking idiot. I am sure he knew already. I only hoped he could forgive me for it.

 

 

I was greeted with the live version of that scene from the very first Avengers movie. You know the one. Sweat glistening. Biceps flexing. His shoulders accentuated with each punch. An almost vengeful assault on the sandbag like it had done something terrible to him.

 

 

“Are you imagining I am the sandbag?” I joked.

 

 

His hands stilled for a split second. Then, ignoring me, he kept on punching away, pummeling the sandbag.

 

 

“I would never hit a woman,” he said simply. “You should know this. But maybe you don’t know anything anymore.”

 

 

I sighed. “You are still angry,” I said, taking a step closer but keeping a respectful distance. I wanted to apologize and fix things, not get accidentally hit by his elbow and die or something. Hey! I am not exaggerating. Have you seen this man? He was 6 feet tall and my fragile head was pretty much in line with his elbow. He could break me in two without even trying.

 

 

“What was your first clue?”

 

 

“Chris,” I murmured helplessly. I didn’t know how to do this.

 

 

Remember how I said we always fought? Well it was always me who got mad, and he who always made me laugh and forget why I was mad in the first place. I was the one with the short fuse. In the rare occasion that he got angry, he’d calm down in an instant and we would be okay in a matter of minutes. This was new territory to me. He’d never been angry at me before. Not like this.

 

 

“Chris,” I repeated. “Can we talk? Please?”

 

 

He stopped moving, but he didn’t turn around. His hands held on to the sandbag – the poor victim – to stop it from swinging. “Oh now you want to talk?” he asked me. His voice sounded nasty. So unlike him. “Wouldn’t you rather throw out accusations and blame for things? Isn’t that how you fucking like it?”

 

 

“No! That is _not_ how I fucking like it!” I exclaimed. No reaction. Not even a glance in my direction. I laid a hand on his back, trying to get him to turn around.

 

 

And he did. In a whirl of a movement that effectively startled the breath right out of me, he turned. His hands grabbed on to me and literally tackled me down. The soft plush mattress that covered the gym floor broke the fall, as did his arms behind my back.

 

 

I was trapped. Between the floor and Chris. His face inches from mine, his eyes were dark with emotion. He was angry alright. But there was something else too. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath or say a word. I could only stare at him.

 

 

“Well, I don’t want to fucking talk anymore,” he murmured, his breath brushing over my face. Then his lips descended onto mine in a grueling, almost punishing kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

You know that moment when something intense happens and your mind just shuts down because it cannot process everything fast enough? That’s what happened to me when Chris kissed me. All the sensations overwhelmed me at once.

 

 

The moment his lips touched mine, I stopped thinking. My brain simply stopped working.

 

 

All I could do was kiss him back with everything I had. All that  _mattered_  was kissing him back. Everything else simply ceased to exist for me.

 

 

So that’s what I did. I told my overthinking garbage of a brain to shut the hell up and let my body lead the way. Where we were going I had no clue, but I had no intention of stopping. Well, that’s not technically true. I had some clue. We were going somewhere that would make it impossible for us to turn back. But it was too delicious and divine, and stopping was the furthest thing from my mind.

 

 

His lips were rough at first. Punishing. Vengeful even. But the moment I opened my mouth, letting his tongue sweep in imitating something far more raw and carnal, he gentled. It was an acceptance of my surrender that his body acknowledged even before I was aware of it.

 

 

My hands slid up on their own twining around his neck. His hair was oh so soft to the touch. Chris had the softest hair, it was just totally unfair. In contrast, his jeans were rough against my bare legs. I raised my hips, reveling in the friction. Just where I needed it most.

 

 

I couldn’t hold back the moan.

 

 

He pulled back a bit, and everything paused for one brief moment. I forced my eyes open to find him peering down at me.

 

 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice raspy. Just like that first time, he was asking for my consent. Even in the heat of the moment, he was worried about me.

_Did I?_

_Did I want him to stop?_

 

 

My body screamed in denial, but my brain – whatever was barely functional at the moment – warned me that this was only going to end in disaster. For both me and him.

 

 

I tightened my hold on his hair and dragged him down to reunite our lips.  _Fuck my brain. I had thought enough and I didn’t want to do it anymore. A lot of good it did me anyway, right?_

 

 

He broke the kiss once more. His eyes seemed even more intense as he glared at me. “No. I need your  _words_ ,” he insisted. “Do you want this?”

_Cruel._

 

 

Had I not surrendered enough already?

 

 

He wanted it all. He wanted me to say it. Out loud. Once the words are said, there was no going back. There was no pretending it didn’t happen after this. There was no running away after this.

 

 

He waited, seemingly rather patient considering just how hard he was between my legs.

 

 

With a mental sigh of resignation, I said it. “I want this.” My words barely a breath against his lips.

 

 

As if those three words triggered something primitive within him, his body set into motion. His hands slipped underneath my shirt, raising it up and out of the way. My bra was cast aside with deft and practiced movements.

 

 

I wasn’t about to be left behind. Impatiently, I lifted his t-shirt off, wanting his skin against mine with such desperation. The feel of his hard muscles against my breasts, hardened my nipples instantly. The friction was torture. But it was torture of the most delicious kind. And I wanted more. More kissing.

 

 

More skin. More of him. In whatever capacity possible.

 

 

All I wanted was  _more._

 

 

He kissed a path down my neck. I slid my hands slowly down his chest, past his abdomen and reached for the buckle of his jeans. His hand stopped mine. All of a sudden, my hands were restricted, held above my head.

 

 

He wasn’t kidding about this surrender thing.

 

 

He wanted total control and my complete compliance.

 

 

Realizing I cannot touch him only made me want to touch him even more. I was desperate to demolish his composure. To affect him just as badly as he had affected me, turning me into a quivering, moaning mess.

 

 

“Chris…” I whined, asking him for something that I couldn’t find the words to.

 

 

His only response was to take one swollen nipple into his mouth. Without lingering, he switched his attention to the other. A bite, soothed with his tongue right after.

 

 

Without warning, without even removing them first, his hand slipped into my shorts. Pushing my panties aside, he brushed past my lips, his thumb settling on the sensitive nub at the centre. I was so wet, and there was no hiding it from him.

 

 

He let go of my hands to strip me of my shorts. Though free to move, I could do nothing but watch with unbridled fascination as he then unbuckled his own jeans.

 

 

My eyes widened at the sight of him.

_Oh my._

 

 

He knelt between my legs. His hands slid beneath my hips lifting me up, aligning me with him. The head brushed across me and I closed my eyes. Reveling in the feeling.

 

 

His hand tightened at my hip, commandeering my attention.  _That would definitely leave a mark,_ I thought as my eyes fluttered open to meet his intense gaze.

 

 

“Watch,” he demanded.

 

 

And for the life of me, I couldn’t look away. He pushed against my entrance, insistently. The head slid in, and I moaned at the feel of him stretching me. I could feel my inner walls protest at the invasion, though I was wet and ready.

 

 

He was  _big_. He was  _not_ going to fit.

_Oh God._

 

 

He pulled out a bit and I realized he was breathing hard from holding back.

 

 

“Chris.” His name was both a protest and a plea on my lips.

 

 

“Take all of me,” he said roughly.

 

 

And with one sure stroke, he was embedded in me to the root.

 

 

The pain made me gasp but quickly turned into a moan of delicious pleasure as he began to move. He leaned over me, once more holding my hands above my head. It was an act of dominance that pushed him even deeper within me. Making him hit just that spot that made my eyes roll back in my head.

 

 

I was surrounded by him. His lips brushing across my jawline and shoulder with each thrust. His chest rubbing against my hardened nipples with every movement. His scent overwhelmed me. The feel of him turned me into a mush of sensual yearning.

 

 

Unable to move my arms to drag him closer or control his pace in any way, I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts, desperately chasing that peak that was almost within my reach. Almost, but not quite.

 

 

Chris, ever aware of me and what I needed even without me having to say a word, settled one hand between where we were joined, artfully destroying me and pushing me over the edge. My walls clenched around him in a glorious climax that seemed to go on and on. Just as I was riding that wave of pleasure, his body finally gave up any pretense of holding back. His thrusts became harder and faster.

 

 

With a groan against my neck, he came – the feel of it hot and thick inside of me.

 

 

The silence that followed was broken by our raspy breathing. We were both trying to catch our breath after what had been the most intense fucking of my goddamn life.

_Holy shit._

 

 

I was in awe. My body reeling in the aftermath.

 

 

But slowly, my brain was turning itself back on. The wheels and gears turning despite my internal protests.

_I just had sex._

_With Chris._

_My best friend._

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

 

 

I squeezed my eyes shut, delaying the inevitable moment that I’d have to face him. I could no longer hide behind our haze of lust. The lust was quenched and haze has passed, leaving us both to face the harsh reality of what we had done.

 

 

What could I even say to him now?

 

 

His hand slid through my hair, cradling my head in his palm. His thumb caressed my cheek.

_What?_

_What was happening?_

 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

_Oh no._

 

 

It hadn’t been even five minutes and he was already regretting it. I should have expected it. I should have known. And yet, my eyes stung with the realization.

_I was such a goddamn idiot._

 

 

What had I expected? That we’d have sex and then everything would just work out and there would be no fucking consequences. That we’d drive off into the sunset for some stupid happily ever after?

 

 

Stupid.

 

 

It had been some raw, intense fucking propelled by his adrenaline driven body to take his anger out on me. Nothing more.

 

 

“I never imagined our first time being this rough,” he continued ruefully.

 

 

“What?” I asked dazedly, opening my eyes to stare at him in disbelief.

 

 

A soft laugh escaped him, and he chuckled against my shoulder like I’d said the funniest thing ever.

 

 

But my mind was whirling. Spiraling more like it.

_I never imagined our first time being this rough._ His words reverberated in my head.

_I never imagined…_

 

 

Wait.

 

 

What?

 

 

Did that mean he had  _imagined_  how it would be like?

 

 

No, that couldn’t be it. Why would he do that? Nothing seemed to make sense. And he was laughing against my chest.

 

 

For some reason I really wanted to punch him. I don’t even know why.


End file.
